


Senior Bastard

by animeangelriku



Series: Senior Bastard (CrissColfer HS!AU) [1]
Category: Glee RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-18
Updated: 2016-03-18
Packaged: 2018-05-27 09:39:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6279331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/animeangelriku/pseuds/animeangelriku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris hates the stupid uniform he has to wear to school every day. He also hates Darren Criss, who somehow makes the whole ensemble look both good and comfortable. Not that Chris thinks he looks cute or anything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Senior Bastard

**Author's Note:**

> This was written a long time ago for the CrissColfer Bingo fill: uniform, and I recently got some motivation to put it up here!

Chris hates his stupid, _goddamn_ uniform.

He knows a lot of his classmates only like it because it means they don’t have to worry about what to wear during the week. God, it’s like they’re children and they need their parents’ help to get dressed. Chris can perfectly decide on what clothes to wear every single day _on his own_ , thank you very much.

And it certainly _isn’t_ this ridiculous uniform.

He’s no expert on anything related to fashion, and he’ll admit it, but he’s pretty sure only snobby, rich kids’ schools’ dressing code include a _vest_ and _tie_ and actual, formal black shoes. He would have no problem wearing them every once in a while, or for formal occasions, but damn it all, he _likes_ his casual clothes, all right? He likes his pants and his tennis shoes and his fan-shirts (which, admittedly, might be a bit over the top). And he’d like to at _least_ have some sort of Casual Friday in this stupid place.

But no, one of the best schools in this geographic location he calls “country” has no sense of comfort whatsoever.

And still, Darren Criss, that little senior _bastard_ , somehow makes the whole ensemble look good.

_And_ comfortable.

And Chris might just hate him a little bit for that.

Not that he thinks Darren actually looks really cute with his dumb uniform and his ridiculously cute-looking black curls on the top of his head and his stupid smile and his fucking guitar strapped to his back _everywhere_ he goes, and how do the teachers even allow him to burst into song during class—which he himself hasn’t witnessed, he’s only a freshman, but the fucker is kind of a celebrity around here—and how the _fuck_ do they let him get away with wearing _tennis shoes_?

No. Chris doesn’t think Darren’s cute.

Chris hates Darren because the asshole gets away with wearing _freaking tennis shoes_ and Chris wishes he were in his place.

But he doesn’t think he’s cute.

Not in the _slightest_.

-

Darren likes the uniform he has to wear five times a week, around six hours a day. It’s comfy, it’s light clothing—so it’s okay in the summer, though in the winter he does have to wear a sweater or even a coat—and, not to be arrogant, but he _totally_ rocks it. Like, legit rocks it.

Okay, _now_ he’s being arrogant.

But he does. Really.

Now he wishes he could extend some of his self-confidence to the kid who always glares at him whenever he sees him. He doesn’t even know the kid’s name; first, he’s a freshman, and second, every time Darren tries to approach him, he glares some more and turns away, like he can’t wait to get as far away from Darren as possible.

It saddens him most of the time. He tries to get to know every student in the school, because he knows how awful it is to be the new generation and having the now older generations looking down upon you. He also knows how hard it is to be taken seriously among older peers, so he tries to be that bridge between them.

Except that this kid seems to be an unmovable concrete block that Darren can’t even reach.

But what saddens him the most is that this guy seems to… shrink in on himself. Like he’s not comfortable in any sense of the word: not in his clothes and not even in his own skin. Like he’s just here for the credits he’ll get for college, but he’d just as well be taking the classes at home. Like he doesn’t want to socialize or have anything to do with _anyone_.

And Darren knows that if someone doesn’t want to get to know other people, he can’t really change their mind.

But damn him if he isn’t going to try at least.

-

Chris is going to go home and lie down on his bed and sleep for the rest of his _life_ after he gets out of here.

He honestly, seriously, _truthfully_ , can’t stand this uniform any longer.

If he had known that not wearing his vest because he accidentally got Diet Coke spilled on it—he has no one but himself to blame for having stayed awake until three in the morning to finish his goddamn paper for the school journal—was going to get him _fucking detention_ , he would’ve tried to ruin it in a more thought-out way. He would’ve used paint or something instead of spilling Diet Coke on it. It probably would have been more worthy.

Now he’s stuck on detention, fiddling with the sleeves of his shirt, the knot of his tie, as he tries not to fall asleep. The second his chin touched his chest, the teacher nearly slapped him with a ruler. He’s glad that, at least, he’s the only one here.

Someone knocks on the door, thankfully bringing Chris back from the blurry line between awake and unconscious. The teacher calls out a, “Come in,” and in walks a student that…

Oh.

Chris tries not to glare at Darren Criss, who just walked into the classroom, but he probably fails miserably. Not that he really minds that much.

Darren is talking in hushed tones with the teacher, and Chris has half a mind to subtly push his desk closer so that he can hear what he’s saying when the teacher sighs deeply, nods to himself, and walks out.

Then Darren is turning in his direction, smiling that annoying _totally not adorable_ smile of his, and then he’s skipping— _fucking skipping_ —towards Chris, taking a chair, spinning it around, and sitting in front of Chris with his hands on the back of the chair.

“Hey!” Darren says, still smiling widely. He looks like a goddamn cartoon.

“Hello,” Chris says, probably still glaring. He chances a look down at his shoes, and—yep. Tennis shoes. That _bastard_.

“I’m Darren.”

“I know,” Chris answers. Who in this entire school doesn’t know who he is?

“Oh,” Darren says, and he leans back a little, like he hadn’t expected that answer. “Um. Okay. I didn’t think…” He glances down at his hands, still gripping the back of the chair, and Chris is a little… taken aback, he thinks, by how _vulnerable_ Darren looks all of a sudden. It’s as if he had planned this scenario out in his head, and the script he had for it isn’t the one he and Chris are acting out.

Then his smile returns, and Chris, once again, forces himself to think that _no_ , he _doesn’t_ think Darren’s cute, because the stupid senior can get away with pretty much everything while Chris is stuck in detention because of his _goddamn vest_.

“What’s your name?” Darren asks him.

“What are you doing here?” Chris replies instead.

Darren, for the second time in the span of a minute, seems speechless for a second before he recovers. “I was sent to tell the teacher the principal wanted to talk to him. So I only have a couple of minutes to talk to you.”

“I don’t want to talk to _you_ ,” Chris says.

He hopes that’ll send Darren on his way, that it’ll be his third strike and he will finally decide to leave Chris alone, but the bastard actually grins, he _grins_ , and then he’s leaning his chin on his arms.

“It’s just a few minutes,” Darren insists. “Humor me.”

Chris leans back on his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. He’s never had Darren right in front of him. He’s seen him from afar, seen his black curls and his smile that resembles a lamp, it seems to light up the entire room he’s in, and the guitar that he doesn’t have strapped to his back now. But he hadn’t seen his eyes, his eyes as bright as his smile, shifting between brown and a more honey-like color, or his nails, painted with different colors of nail polish (is that even allowed? Not just for guys, but for girls? He’ll have to recheck the dressing code), or the way he cocks his head to the side like a bird.

Or the fact that his eyes always seem so full of adoration for _everything_ around him, like a child in an eternal theme park, drooling over everything because everything is wonderful and new and amazing.

“Why do you want to talk to me?” Chris asks, all his malice gone, genuinely curious now. Nobody has ever wanted to talk to him since he got here, and he guesses it’s because he wanted it that way. So why is Darren Criss, who has the entire school at his feet, of _all_ people, so intent on talking to him? Because this isn’t the first time Chris has tried to push him away, and he has a feeling it won’t be the last.

Darren lifts his chin from his arms.

“Because I don’t know you,” Darren answers. “And I’d like to get to know you.”

“Why?” Chris wonders, barely biting back the words, _So that there’s no one in this entire place who isn’t charmed by the very sight of you?_

“Because you seem lonely,” Darren says, his voice always friendly, never rising or dropping.

Chris is about to say that of course he seems lonely, he’s wanted it that way, until he remembers that _alone_ and _lonely_ aren’t the same thing.

“So?” he says. “I manage.”

“You don’t have to,” Darren tells him. “I’m not saying we should become best friends in three seconds or anything. I just wanna get to know you, if I can.”

“But _why_?” Chris keeps insisting. Okay, Darren doesn’t look like that much of an asshole anymore, but Chris can’t figure out why _Darren Criss_ wants to get to know someone like him; someone who keeps to himself, who would rather be on his own than have people walk out on him, who isn’t good at making friends, or keeping the ones he manages to make. He and Darren are complete opposites. Chris can’t see any way this will work.

So why does Darren?

Darren doesn’t sigh in annoyance. He doesn’t tell Chris, _I already told you why_ , he doesn’t react in any way Chris thinks he might.

Instead, his smile turns soft.

“Because I know what it’s like to be lonely,” Darren answers.

Chris can’t think of anything to say, so he doesn’t.

“Look,” Darren goes on, leaning back on the chair. “If you want me to get lost, just say it and I’ll stop bothering you. I promise.”

Chris actually has no idea of what he should say. He just knows it’s not that.

Darren… isn’t at all what Chris expected him to be. He thought the senior was a prick, that he knew the school was at his feet and took advantage of it, that he was some sort of dictator that no one realized was a dictator, but it seems that he’s a nice guy and everyone else simply happens to like his charisma. As though, instead of a tyrant, he’s a random guy that became king and everybody just accepted it without any trouble while he still thinks he’s from the low neighborhoods.

“Okay.” Darren is still smiling as he stands up from the chair and puts it back in its place. He places his hands on his hips. “It was nice talking to you.” And there’s no sarcasm, no malice, no hurt, no _nothing_ except honesty in his words. And Chris would think Darren is _really_ good at lying and showing people exactly what they want to see, but he’s generally good at reading people once he’s gotten to interact with them directly.

And he knows that Darren is nothing but sincere in what he says and does.

Oh, that senior _bastard_.

“If there’s anything I can help you with,” he says, already walking back to the door, “don’t hesitate. I can promise to do whatever I can to help.”

He’s already at the door when Chris speaks.

“Chris.”

Darren turns his head back to him, a surprised look on his face.

“What was that?”

“Chris,” Chris repeats. “I’m Chris. Chris Colfer.”

And then Darren is grinning again and his eyes kind of scrunch up and Chris doesn’t know whether he wants to laugh or punch that grin away.

“Nice to meet you, Chris Colfer,” Darren says, and Chris is actually going to punch himself for how much he likes hearing Darren say his name. “I’m Darren Criss.”

Chris doesn’t feel the smile coming up on his own lips until he notices Darren smile even wider. They haven’t known each other for ten minutes and this idiot can already make Chris smile. Oh, what the _fuck…_

“I know,” he says.

Darren laughs. “Right, right.”

“I just have a question for you.”

“Yeah, go ahead.”

“What did you do to be allowed to wear _tennis shoes_?”

Darren, for a second, doesn’t seem to realize what Chris is asking. Then he looks down at his feet, and he starts laughing so loudly that Chris wonders why no teacher has come to ask what’s going on in the detention classroom.

“Earned myself an hour of detention almost every day for three years,” Darren answers him, half of his body already out the door. “The teachers eventually got tired. Keep coming to school without your vest and it might work for you.”

And without another word, he does a spin on his feet and practically skips out of detention.

This… _friendship_ thing with the biggest dork in the entire school, or whatever thing just started between them, is—most likely—going to be the end of Chris. But maybe, just maybe, he doesn’t mind as much as he thought he would.

He leans back on his chair, throwing his head back to glance at the ceiling, and he lets out a little laugh.

That senior _bastard_.


End file.
